My phone takes pictures in color. Yes, I can “adjust” them into black and white, but the first option is color.
My other cameras, large metal beasts with multiple lenses, also shoot in color. Yes, I can tell them to see in B/W, or I can change the color patterns in Photoshop or another of the processing programs on my computer. However, the cameras are designed to see the same colors I see when looking at the world through my brown eyes.
I like seeing in color, but that’s been challenging this week.
We live in Portland, Oregon, and this week has been black and white. At least till about noon. When the sun rises it is white, beaming weakly as it attempts to find some color in the deep grey fog that covers everything.
Our backyard is black and white. Just like our front yard and all our neighbors’ yards. The yellow mum blossoms that are braving the last of winter on our front porch? Shades of gray.
My wife and I have driven up the Columbia Gorge a couple times this week, through a wonderland of black and white. River reflections so perfect you cannot tell up from down. White fog stealing all detail from the trees. Then we stopped at Multnomah Falls. Along with a dozen others, most of whom came from “far away” places.
I hoisted a tripod and a color camera, hoping for a flash of green or a burst of orange. Instead, I stared in awe at a magical world where the Master Artist swirls wisps of gray/white fog across the cliffs. Where scraggly trees play silhouette games against foggy backdrops. Where, suddenly, a Rapunzel waterfall gleams among the trees like a galaxy of silver stars.
I prefer brilliant colors. Yet, this morning God reminded me that He’s here, casting diamonds, even in the simple beauty of black and white days.